


blessed are the forgetful

by Nemainofthewater



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Angst, Character Study, Don't copy to another site, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Not literally, Pre-Canon, Reginald Hargreeves' A+ Parenting, not physically there but present in spirit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-27
Updated: 2019-03-27
Packaged: 2019-12-18 16:10:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18253301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nemainofthewater/pseuds/Nemainofthewater
Summary: Allison Hargreeves in the moments after she loses custody of Claire.Pre-canon character study.





	blessed are the forgetful

“Sole custody has been granted to the plaintiff.”

 

The words echo through her head.

 

Sole custody…

 

Allison stares into the bathroom mirror. It’s dirty. There are flecks of grease and dust and someone has just pressed their entire palm against the glass. She wonders who left it there. Why. What reason would someone have to do that?

 

She reaches forward to touch the palmprint but snatches her hand back when she hears the door open.

 

“Hey, are you ok?”

 

Allison looks up. A young Hispanic woman is staring at her. She looks worried. That’s nice.

 

“I’m fine,” Allison says.

 

“It’s just…” the other woman trails off, “It’s just you’re crying.”

 

Allison touches her cheek. Oh. She is.

 

“I’m fine,” she says, “I must just be allergic to something in here.”

 

She turns to leave.

 

“Holy shit,” someone whispers behind her, “Is that Allison Hargreeves?”

 

Allison sharply turns, suddenly furious.

 

“I heard a rumour,” she snaps, “That you all left me alone.”

 

The bathroom quickly empties and Allison sags against a stall. She didn’t mean to do that. Using her powers had led to this mess in the first place. But she was just so angry: angry at the world that wouldn’t give her a break, angry at Patrick for taking Claire away, angry at herself for being weak, for resorting to Rumours on her own daughter: what sort of mother does that?

 

The worst of it, the absolute worst, is that she knows that she would do it again. Oh, she wouldn’t mean to. Not really. It’s just so easy: one little phrase and the world is bent to her will. She didn’t even think of it growing up. No: that’s wrong. She did think of it, she thought of it all the time. It was funny getting Diego to steal snacks for her, or to get Ben to clean her room. And she was rewarded: not overtly, God forbid Reginald ever say anything approving to her. But it was in what he didn’t say: the way that Mom or Pogo would catch her, and their eyes would go tight, but they wouldn’t say anything. There were no repercussions.

 

No wonder she’d grown into such a fucked-up adult.

 

Because in the real world there are consequences. A lesson that she didn’t learn in her insular childhood home: you can’t rumour everyone.

 

She leans forward again and touches the palmprint. At a second glance, it is small. Too small to be a grown woman’s hand. Allison’s palm dwarfs it.

 

She feels a pang.

 

Could there be a matching palmprint on this mirror one day? Would Claire stare into a cheap mirror, wondering why her mother is never around, desperately search her own features to find traces of her, touch her palm to the glass and try and pretend that she’s holding her mother’s hand?

 

Or worse, would she grow, go to school, find friends, love science, hate science, hate her maths homework, join the football team, live her life. Grow up (fast, too fast) and not think of Allison, or only think of her as a stranger, someone she has to visit a couple of times a year, someone she dutifully writes to every birthday and Christmas?

 

Allison closes her eyes.

 

She wants to scream ‘It’s not fair.’ She wants to smash this stupid mirror, or pound against it until her hands are raw and bloody and she can concentrate on the physical pain and not the utter mess that she’s made of her life.

 

She’s escaped the Academy, she’s famous, she has a family. These are truths that she tells herself every day.

 

But the real truths are that she will never escape the Academy’s legacy. She lives in an artificial world of her own making, never sure if people truly know her, waiting for the moment her house of cards topples down and she’s exposed as a fraud. Her fans don’t know her: they love a carefully crafted persona. Not Allison Hargreeves who loves to dance and hates hair straighteners and would rather curl up in front of the TV with Claire and Patrick on Friday nights than go out for drinks with her girlfriends. And her family…her family is being taken away from her. And it’s her own fault.

 

She opens her eyes and stares at herself in the mirrors. Looks straight into her own eyes, red-rimmed and no doubt the paparazzi will be plastering photos of her all over the internet as soon as she leaves the courthouse. She can’t bring herself to care.

 

“I heard a rumour,” she says quietly, staring at that bitch in the mirror, “That you don’t have powers. That you’re completely normal. I heard a rumour that you’re going to go out there and not fuck up and be normal and try and win back Claire and Patrick and show them that you’re a good mother. I heard a rumour…I heard a rumour…”

 

She’s sobbing now, ugly and loud, echoing through the stalls. She can’t stop. She has to stop.

 

Eventually she stops. She straightens and wipes the worst of her ruined make-up off her face, carefully re-applying it with shaking hands. Finally, she summons a smile.

 

‘This is just a set-back,’ her smile says, ‘Allison Hargreeves is composed. She’s cool under pressure. She’ll complete the court-mandated therapy sessions and be back with her daughter by Christmas.’

 

Mask firmly in place, ready to face the public, she glances at the mirror one last time, and then leaves.

**Author's Note:**

> I am on Tumblr as [Nemainofthewater ](https://nemainofthewater.tumblr.com)


End file.
